


The World Ahead

by CosmicOcelot



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dark Magic is messy, Emily just figuring things out you know, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, Mystery, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Romance, and should only remain a tool and not a crutch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-24 17:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot
Summary: In the months following her return to the throne, Emily has barely gotten used to the intricacies of daily life as an Empress and not a fugitive before another problem presents itself. With the help of a certain black-eyed friend and her most trusted confidants she must unravel a web of treachery and black magic that threatens to rival Delilah's ambitions in their scope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, quick explanation of the archive warning above, while I'm not going to be writing very gory scenes, a major plot point revolves around children being kidnapped and the threat of possible harm to them so if that's something that upsets you I recommend you don't read this work. 
> 
> With that out of the way, this is my first work in the dishonoured fandom and I hope you enjoy it :)

She has tried to sum up in words what it’s like, but everything on paper has seemed lacking, the sheets only vaguely satisfying when tossed into the hearth as an outlet for frustration.

It is not nothing, as the name would suggest, because there is definitely something there, but it is that lack of the something, the hiding in the corners of your vision or just out of reach of your grasping fingertips that results in the feeling of isolation. Of being adrift, forgotten and alone among dark twisting islands and the mournful calls of great beasts, every inhale full of the memory of ash and the echo of sea air. 

And she loves it there. 

There is peace in the stillness, unending and uninterrupted, no demands made of her, no sacrifices she must carve from her being and offer up in order to ensure her people prosper and the Empire endures. 

And it is quiet. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Empress.”

Mostly. 

She doesn’t open her eyes, her ears seeking the faint whispers of a particularly soulful croon from far away. “From what I understand, few things can surprise you; odd that my appearance should be one of them.” 

“Indeed.” He replies, amused. “Even I cannot see everything.”

The corners of her lips curl into a smirk. “Perhaps we need to find you some corrective glasses? Is that why you hovered for so long before approaching?

If his movements cause a breeze, it is indistinguishable among the cold wind that brushes her hair and caresses her face; but still she waits a moment more before allowing her eyes to open and meet the shining black ones in front of her. 

His eyes glimmer with amusement, arms crossed across his chest as he stares down on her from his perch on a black slab. “Not even previous Empresses have dared to mock a God.” 

“I was unaware there could be heresy in a demon’s court.” She replies, smirk still softly pulling at her lips. 

His own lips twitch upwards in response. “A fair point, dear Empress; but what does it say about you I wonder, that you would rather hold court with this demon than with the strictures of the holy Abbey?” 

“That I prefer a quill in my hand over a knitting needle.” She replies easily, making to stand before stopping as he offers her his hand, glancing up at him to gauge whether or not he is about to dangle her over another cliff before accepting it.

He lets go of her hand as soon as she pulls herself up. “And the Void over a good night’s sleep it seems.” 

“If the night is to be sleepless anyway, better to seek out some semblance of rest.” She shrugs gently--

Her whole body hitches for a moment, suddenly aware that the shrug is the least Empress-like she’s been around him, distracted by bone deep fatigue that made her forget that he is not like her Father, or like Alexi was. He is Different. 

She tries to step away from the momentary lapse, moving towards the edge of the floating island they’re on and peering deeper into the Void, watching as one of the beasts shifts in and out of focus, and trying to ignore his gaze burning into her back. 

“What is it they say?” He murmurs quietly before the breeze brushes past her and he reappears in front of her, feet firmly planted on air. His eyes, softened now from their previous amusement to something less clear, never dropping their gaze from hers as he takes her marked hand and brings it up to his smirking lips. “No rest for the Wicked?” 

He closes his eyes and presses her lips to her hand. 

Warmth curls up her arm and throughout her being, replacing the fatigue like honey drizzling into bitter tea on a soft summer day. Slowly, her eyes slip closed as she gives into it, an unbidden sigh slipping past her lips—

And when she opens them again, her gaze meets not ink black eyes but the golden light of dawn dancing gently into her chambers.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

It took a while for her to settle back in. 

In the first few months following the coup, she was afraid she had some sort of tell, some clinging shadow visible to all but her; stalked every moment by the paralyzing fear that she was only a breath away from the Abbey storming the tower. 

But as the months passed and no harsh knock ever came, she began to relax, to the point where she allowed herself the necessity of commissioning outfits that would cover the back of her hand; unwittingly sparking a new fashion trend among the nobles. 

And there are signs that the mighty Abbey is beginning to falter, as they struggle to rebuild their order following its colossal failure to oust the Witch Empress. Indeed, the tide has turned against them of late, nobility reluctant to lend their coin and attentions to the cult militia that had failed them so dramatically, preferring instead to shift their gaze and coin towards the Empress; who reclaimed her throne under no power but her own.  
Rumblings have arouse even among the common folk, wondering why they should suffer the loss of family members, friends, neighbors at the slightest whim of the Abbey, if they cannot be counted on to fight against true evil when it raises on its ghastly limbs to walk among them. 

She has not deigned to intervene in the discourse, because the Abbey and Governance must remain separate, but secretly she delights in the cruel and vindictive order’s fall from popularity, hoping soon she will be able to shake off the stalking fear for good. 

But though the Abbey may be blind to her connection to the Void, the Royal Protector is not. 

She thinks it’s because of his own mark, that maybe he can taste the echoes of the place in the air around her, the faint stench of sea air and charcoal enough to thin his lips and harden his eyes. 

He regards her silently from across the breakfast table as the servants place their meal before them, not bothering to glance down at what they’ve prepared for him. The servants pause for a moment before Emily thanks and dismisses them, quietly and gracefully retreating from the room and closing the door behind them. 

She turns back to her own meal, busying herself with popping chunks of fresh fruit into her mouth and reading the paper while her father continues his one-sided staring contest. 

Eventually, when it appears he will let his favorite breakfast go cold rather than have his glower ignored, she puts down her paper. 

“Something on your mind, Father?” 

His lips, if possible, thin even more. “Just wondering what words of wisdom our mutual friend wanted to give you.” 

“Nothing of any note.” She shrugs, pausing to take a sip of her tea. “I wasn’t intending on the pleasure of his company, I simply wanted to listen to the whales for a while; have some peace and quiet.” 

“I can think of better places to go for that.” 

She tries not to roll her eyes. It would be childish. “As can he, apparently.” 

Silence hangs over them for a moment, before Corvo gives in to his hunger and spears some serkonan blood-sausage onto his fork. “So, if not to give another one of his long rambling, vague speeches, what did he seek you out for?”

“Apparently his eyesight is failing him.”

“What?”

She shakes her head, picking her newspaper back up. “Never mind; I’m fairly certain his goal was simply to mock my presence.” 

“Nothing is ever simple with him.” Corvo growls, stabbing the remainder of the sausage with perhaps a bit more force than was necessarily required. 

She doesn’t contradict him, focusing on the remainder of her meal and pretending to read. 

They’ve both almost finished when Corvo speaks again. 

“The ship from Morley should arrive in about six weeks time. Looking forward to seeing Wyman again?” 

It is a peace offering, an olive branch that Emily normally would graciously accept, but the very thought of Wyman sets her stomach into uncomfortable twists and knots. 

“Of course,” she replies, in a rush of words that trip on her tongue in their eagerness to be heard. “It’s been so long since we last saw each other…it will be nice to…spend time with them again…sorry, father, if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to do.” 

Her father regards her carefully, and she knows that she hasn’t fooled him. Cursing at herself for being so caught off guard, she quickly rings the bell to call the servants back in; deftly slipping past them and willing herself not to break into a run towards her chambers.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“—and chiefly of course, the issue of trade between the two continents must be hammered out more firmly, as it would be reckless to enter into this deal before further solidifying what both sides will gain from it—”

Emily taps her fingers on the arms of her throne in an act that before would have been borne out of absentmindedness, and what is now simply a habit as she hones her focus in on the visitors she receives. 

Even when that visitor is the Minister of Trade, a meeting that back then, and even now at times, she struggled to get through without being driven out of her mind with boredom. 

Now though, she tries to focus her thoughts on what effect these policies will have on her people, keeping her mind busy as she runs through the countless scenarios that arise at the Minister’s words. 

“—For example, I would suggest a tax on imports of certain Morlesian products, in order to ensure local businesses is not stamped out in the process—”

Taxes would more than likely result in retaliatory measures at some point down the line, perhaps even resulting in a trade war between all the continents…with the poorest people caught in the middle. Better to remain tax-free between continents of the Empire…and besides, the only thing Morley exports that Dunwall already possesses is fruit bread. Often a luxury only reserved for the rich, and has a habit of going bad on long voyages— 

“—And of course, the issue of whether Morley ships would be permitted to conduct their docking rituals in the style of their homeland and not that of Gristol; As you know, the Abbey of the Everyman in particular raised some concerns about that —”

Condemning the singing of a ritual docking song in the Morlesian mother tongue is not worth the animosity it would generate. And to the Void with the Abbey— 

“—Finally, there is the matter of whether or not we will be lifting the ban on carved whale bone figurines. Again, it was the Abbey who voiced the most concerns over that, claiming that the figurines are just one step away from the blasphemous bone charms and runes—”

“Empress!”

The doors to the throne room swing open with a bang, causing the Minister to jump half out of his skin, along with most of the nobles in the room, the specter of the last uninvited guest brought suddenly and voraciously back to life in all their minds. 

But rather than a witch in fine clothes, a woman with coarse hair and torn, ragged ones rushes through, in front of a cacophony of guards following behind her. 

She feels Corvo tense at her side as the woman approaches, and the mark on the back of her hand burns in anticipation, but instead of launching herself at the Empress the woman throws herself at her feet. 

“Please, Empress, I must speak with you!” Deep bags underlie her red-rimed eyes as she stares desperately up at Emily before bowing her head to where her worn and calloused hands rest on the floor. 

Emily holds back the guard with a wave of her hand, watching to ensure they have all drawn back slightly, waiting for her signal, before turning her gaze back to the woman at her feet; trying her best to ignore the way that the Minister is sidestepping away from the scene. 

“If it was important enough for you to brave the fury of the Royal Watch then I had better hear it.” She hooks one leg over the other and nods to the woman. “Speak your business.”

The woman returns her gaze to Emily, and some of the tension seeps from her frame. 

“My name is Rowena Kinsmen, your Majesty; I am a fisherman’s wife and the mother of two children.” 

Rowena’s lips quiver. “But I fear that may no longer be the case, as five nights ago my youngest, Jacob, disappeared without a trace. I filed a report with the watch, but nothing has come of their investigation yet.” 

“I understand and am sorry for your grief, but these investigations can take time—” Emily begins softly. 

Rowena shakes her head. “With all due respect, time is not why I am here, your Majesty. Three days ago, I ran into another woman at the watch station, there to check on the status of the investigation into her missing child, again her youngest, but this time a daughter. And as we were standing there talking, another woman arrived, distraught, to report her child had been taken as well.”

Titters begin to arise among the nobles, and Emily narrows her eyes. 

“I went to watch stations in all the districts,” Rowena continues, her hands shaking though her voice remains firm, “and all of them have received cases of families whose youngest child, all different genders, seems to have simply vanished into thin air; and all within the last two weeks.” 

The titters grow slightly louder and more fervent as Rowena glances pleadingly back up at Emily. “Empress, I fear that something terrible is stalking our children and I beg of you to find whatever it is and recover them before it is too late.” 

The titters cease immediately as Emily stands from her throne and makes her way down the short stairs to where Rowena is still kneeling. 

“Rowena Kinsmen,” She says, equal parts satisfied and uncomfortable when Rowena refuses to meet her gaze. “You have my word, as Empress, that the children will be found and the perpetrators brought to justice. I will oversee the investigation into the matter personally, and I thank you for your service in bringing it to my attention.” 

She extends her hand towards Rowena and another wave of shocked titters erupts, but Emily only has eyes for the shock on Rowena’s face before it gives way to overwhelming relief and gratitude as she clasps the offered hand with both of her own and pulls herself up. “Thank you, Empress.” 

Emily inclines her head slightly towards her before addressing one of the Watch. “See to it that this woman is escorted safely back to her home, and alert Guard Captain Leola that I wish to see her in my receiving rooms at the earliest possible opportunity.”

She turns and addresses the remaining nobles. “Given the circumstances, today’s court is adjourned.” She holds up a hand at the Minister’s protests. “I will send my reply to your proposals by the end of the day, Minister.” 

And with that, she makes her way to the receiving rooms as the crowd begins to filter out, Corvo stepping neatly into place beside her, but she waits until the door is closed to address him. 

“Do you believe her?” 

He crosses his arms and leans against one of the bookcases. “I believe she believes what she’s saying; what about you?”

“I agree,” Emily takes a seat on a couch, gratefully taking the cup of tea a maid offers her, “but I’ll reserve my final judgment until I hear from Leola. 

He nods his approval, before huffing out a humorless chuckle. “Figures our mutual friend couldn’t be bothered to mention this, huh?” 

“He might have,” Emily concedes, recalling the wry “No rest for the Wicked”, “it’s always hard to tell with him.”

Corvo grunts in answer and Emily sips the tea, lips twisting slightly at the bitter taste. 

Around ten minutes or so go by and Emily is just thinking of asking for some accouterments to go with her tea when the door to the receiving room opens with a bang and Guard Captain Leola bursts into the room, jaw set hard enough to chew through steel.

“I take it that you were already aware of the situation then.” Emily says dryly, arching her eyebrow slightly. 

Leola stops just short of slamming the door behind her, the glass rattling dangerously for a moment or two before settling down. “Pardon my current disposition and quite certainly sure to follow crudeness, your majesty, but the results of a very tense, very stressful month of stealth operations have just been blown open by a group of bloody useless louts unable to stop one fucking civilian.” Her teeth are grinding together so hard that Emily subtly pushes her plate of bread and apple butter towards the Captain in an effort to give her something else to attack. 

“I assume that there’s a reason you hadn’t brought this very stressful situation to my attention yet?” Emily says, gesturing towards an armchair that Leola plops herself down in. 

The Watch Captain takes her helmet off to reveal a few more silver streaks in her red hair than she possessed on her last visit, pinching the bridge of her nose before exhaling a loud sigh and opening her dark brown eyes. “I was planning to come and talk to you about it today, Majesty, privately, but that woman beat me to it by a heartbeat and a half.”

“Well, I’m certain that your report will be far more insightful than the observations of a civilian.” Emily says in an attempt to soothe Leola’s ruffled feathers, motioning for her to begin.

Unfortunately, Leola shakes her head. “Would that it were, your majesty. But we have little more to go on; households with two or more children are having their youngest taken from them, and all of them come to us with versions of the same story. They put their children to bed, locked the doors and windows, and when they woke the next day, one of them is gone with no trace or sign of a struggle left behind. ‘As though they’ve turned to ash and drifted away on a summer breeze’ Lieutenant Corporal Anders put it to me, a damn poet’s way of describing a bollocks ugly thing.”

“Have you had no success at all in finding those responsible?” Emily questions.

Leola shakes her head again. “For the most part no; we set up stealth operations to observe potential victims, but every one of my people guarding a house that lost a child have either turned up dead or gone missing. All we’ve managed to glean from this is that it must be someone with incredible skill, or someone hired somebody with incredible skill to do the dirty work. And since assassins aren’t exactly the weapons of choice for the poor—”

“You suspect someone in the nobility of orchestrating these crimes.” Emily finishes for her, nodding slightly. 

Leola sighs; this time a more hollowed fatigued sound. “Someone who thanks to that woman now knows that someone has noticed a music to their madness and who will be twice more difficult to suss out and convict.” 

“Perhaps. Or, they may begin to panic.” Emily demurs, folding her hands beneath her chin before glancing back of Leola. “I don’t suppose you’ve come up with a short list yet of those in the nobility you suspect?” 

Leola hesitates before reaching into her bag and pulling out several folders, setting them down on the table. “I’ve got a couple of scribbles, but it’s not much to go on; although maybe the royal protector could spot something I couldn’t.” Her eyes flick to Corvo briefly, before returning to Emily as she stands. “I’ll take my leave now, if that’s alright with you, Empress, I’ve a couple of louts to yell at.” 

Emily nods, dismissing her with a wave of her hand as she reaches for the files. “Of course, keep myself and the Lord Protector apprised of any new information.” 

Leola bows before striding out of the room, grumbling threats towards the Watch under her breath. 

Emily furrows her brow as she reads through the list of suspects and the bullet points of evidence indicating their involvement before passing the list to Corvo. “What do you make of it?”

“Leola’s got a temper and a good instinct.” Corvo replies, eyes scanning through the document, “If she thinks the nobility are involved somehow, then they probably are.”

He pockets the list into his coat. “I’ll look into these names a bit further and inform you if I find something.”

“Good. We’ve just managed to re-establish a sense of normalcy to the people, if there’s another plot brewing, I’d see it broken down in its infancy rather than get out of hand like last time.” Emily nods, getting to her feet. “In the meantime, I shall go write my replies to the minister.” 

“Hard to say which of the two of us will be in the most peril.” Corvo returns dryly, patting her shoulder before heading towards his chambers. 

She lets out a small laugh, “Indeed,” clenching the second page of the list in her fist as she watches him walk away, “who can say?” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Empress?”

“Hmm?” Emily glances up from the list to the door of her chamber, where Coralline has tentatively opened the door a fraction and is peering in hesitantly. “Yes, Cora?”

Coralline quickly ducked in and shut the door behind her. “Begging your pardon, Empress, but the new High Overseer is requesting an audience with you.” 

“Oh, of course,” Emily nods, forcing her body to remain loose despite the spine tingling icy chill raking its claws down her back. “Tell him, I’m available tomorrow at noon for lunch—”

“Begging your pardon again, Empress, but the High Overseer is actually here now.” Cora wrings her hands together, “He has been arguing with Damien—with the House Master for about half an hour or so, demanding to be let in to introduce himself to you.”

Emily arches an eyebrow. “Is there a reason that he thinks he can demand anything from an Empress?” 

“He claims it goes back to an ancient custom where the new High Overseer would have to announce themselves to the reigning regent by the end of the day that they were chosen on.” Coralline tells her, “Damie—I mean, the House Master, has told him repeatedly that custom fell out of practice ages ago, but he is being extremely…”

“Persistent?” Emily finishes for her. 

Coralline’s shoulders slump in exhaustion or relief, Emily isn’t certain. “Yes, Empress.” 

“Very well,” Emily closes her journal with the list tucked carefully inside before placing it in the drawer of her desk. “Tell Damien to allow the High Overseer to enter, and that I’ll receive him here.” 

Coralline nods, “As you wish, Empress,” before ducking back out and closing the door behind her. 

She doesn’t have to wait long for their arrival, barely sealing the envelopes with her replies to the minister before the sharp knock comes at her chamber. “Enter.”

“Your Majesty, may I present the new High Overseer, here to announce himself to you.” Damien looks about five seconds away from shoving that announcement where the dull grey light of the Dunwall sky can’t reach. But if the tall man with the Overseer’s mask and ramrod straight back and shoulders notices it as well, nothing in his demeanor gives it away. 

Emily nods her head towards the man’s general direction. “Thank you, Damien. While I have you here, if you would please ensure these letters reach the Trade Minister’s desk?” 

“Of course, Empress, I’ll see to it immediately.” Damien crosses the room and takes the letters from her outstretched hand, before glancing not so subtly between the man and the Empress. “Shall I also send Coralline up with some refreshments?”

“Some tea would be wonderful, and if you could ask her to please include some honey as well, I would be most appreciative.” Emily smiles gently at him, and Damien bows deeply in reply before leaving the room with one last scornful look cast at the new High Overseer, closing the door behind him. 

Emily finally turns her gaze fully on the man. He wears the traditional overseer robes, the only difference being an ornate sword, the intricately carved hilt visible from his belt. She can tell his hair is a dark brown, but the overseer mask of Gristol covers his face and renders her blind to the rest of her features. She opens her mouth to greet him, but before she can utter a sound, the overseer drops to one knee, bowing his masked face. 

“Regent of the land upon which my humble feet wander, and of the hearth upon which I rest them, I request your recognition of my ascension to that most high position of divinity, of my authority as the leader of the faithful, protector of the people, and defender of your soul. Should you recognize me, I swear to uphold the holy principles of the abbey, to ensure that no darkness falls upon your people and that the cursed hands of the Outsider never catch you in their vacant black embrace.” 

Silence falls between them for a moment, and the skin on Emily’s marked hand tingles as though remembering the phantom grasp of that cursed hand enclosing her own. Her mouth is so dry she fears her words will come out in breathy rasps more befitting a weeper than a regent. “I grant you my recognition of your authority and the oaths that I shall hold you to until such a time that you are no longer able to fulfill them.” 

“Then I reveal my face to you, so that you may be the first to see the face of this new man that I have become, that of High Overseer Gabriel Aeron.” With a click, the man removes the Overseer mask, revealing hazel eyes and a well-defined jaw and cheekbones, before rising to his feet. 

Emily inclines her head towards him. “Greetings, High Overseer Aeron.” She gestures towards the armchair opposite her desk. “Won’t you be seated?”

“Thank you, Empress.” Aeron seats himself in the chair, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “I apologize for any confusion I may have caused your staff and yourself, but I felt I needed to mark my ascension with a symbolic gesture of how I shall be conducting my duties as High Overseer.” 

“Meaning I should expect more surprise visits?” Emily asks. 

Aeron shakes his head quickly, at least looking apologetic. “Ah, no, Empress; I only meant I have decided to return to the primary teachings of our order, and to the reinstatement of ancient and sacred customs that had sadly fallen out of practice in the previous precarious era.” 

“I see.” Emily clasps her hands together, gracing him with a small smile. “Your devotion to protecting the people and decision to return to ancient customs from more prosperous and happy times does you credit, High Overseer.”

A slight flush appears on Aeron’s cheeks. “Thank you, Empress. And might I be permitted to say your own efforts to ensure the comfort of even the lowest citizen of your domain are beyond commendable. You are a scion of the forces of good and justice, an incredibly intelligent woman truly worthy of being elevated and exalted as an example to all.”

This overseer is certainly a departure from tradition, his looks and charm beyond those Emily has received from the others that have held his position, but they make her that much more wary of him. Too often charm is used as a sweetener to obscure bitter venom and kind looks a way to sneak past walls while knives hide in coat pockets. 

“You are far too kind and generous in your good opinion of me, High Overseer;” Emily smiles ruefully at him. “But perhaps we may speak again about efforts that could be taken to improve the lives of those we both seek to protect? I would ask you to indulge me in that conversation now, but I fear I have other appointments to keep today.” She hopes her words have been firm enough to cover up the fearfully rapid beating of her heart. 

The High Overseer practically jumps out of his chair. “Of course, Empress, I would be more than happy to discuss such matters with you; but I have inconvenienced you enough for the day, and I shall take my leave of you now. Thank you for indulging me.” He bows deeply, his back nearly at a ninety-degree angle. “Good day, Empress.” 

“Good day, High Overseer.” She inclines her head towards him; waiting until the door has closed behind him to let out the breaths she had been holding and allow her hands to shake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the investigation begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos! You guys really gave me the encouragement to write this next chapter :)
> 
> Edit: Hey all, I decided to revise the chapter, I just wasn't feeling parts of it so I rewrote a portion of it. The only huge change is the ending conversation, which I recommend re-reading. Thanks your comments and continued support!

She doesn’t think she would make a good pirate anymore. 

She’s seen their famed sword fights up close now, and the veneer has completely come off, because really there is no adventure in them; no strange new mystery to unravel each time another one starts. They either end one of two ways, in death or mercy, with blood filling up the in-between.

That being said, there is something in her that still loves to run along rooftops; climbing and jumping and feeling the wind dance along her skin. She suspects it’s similar to the part of her that loves the Void so much, to sit there and exist outside of time and space.

But that part has been relegated to a dull sensation at the back of her mind as she makes her way through the skyline, a shadow creeping steadily closer to its destination.

With a cat-like grace that her dancing instructor would faint at the mere sight of, she lands on the balcony of the green trimmed house. The windows are open to let in the cool summer air, the house high enough above the production areas of Dunwall that there’s no danger of the stink of the factories seeping into the upholstery.

She slips through the window, and once she’s sure she’s alone, waves her hand in front of her eyes, the back of her hand burning slightly as she does so. Her eyes sharpen and the color scheme around her shifts, walls seeming more like tall pieces of translucent paper, allowing her to note the auras of the others within the house. Once certain that they show no immediate signs of coming to her location nor even of her presence, she waves her hand again and the room with all its colors swims back into focus; shaking her head slightly to adjust to it.

Lord Dunbar’s office appears, on the surface, no different than the five others she has visited tonight. It is clean and well maintained, with not a speck of dust anywhere to be found, papers neatly arranged in a pile on his desk and all his drawers and cabinets carefully locked.

But the locks, as with the others before them, are easy enough to break and she soon finds herself wading through files upon files, searching for clue to send her to the next mystery; though she would be lying if she were to say she was hopeful that there would be one, as all she has to show for her efforts are the bags she can practically feel forming under her eyes and a faint, squirming sense of guilt over deceiving Corvo.

And sure enough the files reveal nothing, just lists of expense reports, correspondence with factory managers of the various whale oil manufacturing buildings that the Dunbars own, along with the projected profit margins for those factories; which appear to be steadily declining due to—  
  
“—that damn “progressive” plague of an Empress!”

She jumps slightly at the ferocity and nearness of the voice, cursing herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings, before calling on the void to pull herself onto the top of the bookshelf; barely managing to make it before the door to the study swings open and the Lord of the house himself storms in, followed by a man that looks like he’s about to wring his hands off.

The Lord throws himself down into the chair behind his desk, his face a rather un-noble shade of red, and glares at the man before him as though he personally is the reason for all the ills of the world. “You do realize this is all her doing, right?”

“Sir—?” The man offers weakly, barely managing to get the word out before the Lord launches into his tirade.

“Oh, they all applauded at court when she announced her plan to start “weaning us off our reliance on whale oil” and switch to “alternative power sources” but we all know why she really did it. Lady Wolsley’s managed to do what she’s always wanted ever since I told her the truth; that whale oil is a man’s field, plain and simple, and her talents were far better suited to the darning she does for the orphanages and her mouth was much more efficient when—”  
  
“Sir, forgive me, but I don’t see what the Empress has to do with this—”

The man jumps when Lord Dunbar bangs his fist on the table, and Emily has to carefully control her flinch. “Don’t you see?! She’s going to close the factories that don’t produce enough whale oil and if we don’t get that saw-beam in warehouse three repaired we’re going to be one of them!”

“B-but sir, Bobby says she’s gonna leave the ones that do the most right by their workers, it ain’t got anything to do with how much whale oil we put out—”  
  
“If you believe him you’re more of an imbecile than I thought possible.” Lord Dunbar stares down his nose at the man witheringly, who seems to shrink down into his worn clothing more. “She’ll leave open the ones that can prove their worth and to hell with the rest of us.”

“A-a-aint she gonna train all those other workers to fit in with those alternate sources or something? Jerry says she’s gonna pay ‘em while they learn and promised to work personally with the other whale oil barons to help ‘em switch to a new business all careful like—”  
  
“Perhaps if you stopped talking to your friends and instead focused your efforts on getting that damn repair company to fix the saw I could be sleeping right now instead of sitting here asking you once again why the _saw. still. isn’t. working_.”

The man, impossibly, wrings his hands more. “The repair guy says when the power line to the saw blew it took out the ventilation system too, so when they go into fix it they gotta use special suits with fancy technical stuff so they can breathe; on account of all the chemicals and stuff we use getting all shaken up in the blast. And cause they can only bring it so much air with ‘em they can only be there for little bit at a time—”  
  
“I am damn tired of all these weak, sickly, excuses.” Lord Dunbar growls. “I want you to go to man who runs the repair business and tell him to get the job done _yesterday_ if he wants to ensure his company doesn’t suddenly find itself under audit. And tell him that not only do I have connections in the tax bureau, but it isn’t hard to find people to convey my displeasure with his team’s progress in a much more…aggressive manner.”

The man pales considerably, stuttering out a “yes, sir” before practically sprinting from the office when Lord Dunbar dismisses him with a wave; the Lord himself pauses a moment to grumble something under his breath before rubbing a hand over his weathered face and shuffling out of the room as well.

Emily releases the breath she had been holding in, pausing a moment more before lowering the folder clutched to her chest and scanning for anything pertaining to a repair company. Her eyes quickly alight upon the name.

“Mangata Repairs.”

She slips out the window after placing the folder back in the cabinet, beginning to run along the rooftops back to the tower. A well-timed return, as the dark grey skies are beginning to lighten, and the faint outline of her only other companion, her shadow, has grown darker and more defined.  
  
She is only one leap away from returning to her rooms when the roof tiles fall away beneath her feet and she is surrounded by endless nothing.

And she is falling.

She throws out her hand and pulls herself to a nearby floating cliff, landing with a quick roll before jumping back up again to her full height.

“How interesting.”  
  
The Outsider stares down at her from his perch on the top of a ruined archway, smirk curling the corners of his lips. “Did you think you’d be here again so soon?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Emily tells him dryly, “But I should have remembered your penchant for pulling people here when it’s convenient for you.”

The Outsider lets out a quiet chuckle, evaporating and reappearing a few feet away from her, hands clasped behind his back as he walks. “Running along rooftops, chasing after specters of darkness in the night, don’t you have an entire department, let alone a royal protector, dedicated to this, my dear Empress?” 

“As you are aware, letting other departments handle matters I should have seen to myself was the basis for our first meeting.” Emily watches as a whale passes them by, the slow, powerful movement of its tail sending a thrum of peace through her veins. “Did you call me here for any other reason besides to marvel at my predicament?”

The Outsider pauses, cocking his head towards her. “What other reason would you prefer I had?”

“To provide information.” She steps closer towards him, though careful to maintain a semblance of respectful distance. “You know where the children are and just what the people who took them are planning, why not just tell me?”

The two stare at each other for a moment, and Emily is sure not to look away before he does, keeping her head and gaze steady even as he begins to close the distance between the two of them with slow and measured steps.

He stops just a few inches from her, the inky wells of his eyes staring down into her own, hands firmly clasped behind his back. And there is a difference to him than the previous night, a tenseness that her words have drawn out that wasn’t there before. She files that detail away in her mind, keeping cognizant of it when he begins to speak.

“I do not play favourites. What intrigue would there be for me, or for you, if I were to simply tell you the solution to every problem that rears its head before you?”

She raises her left hand to show him the mark on the back of her hand, his mark. “You claim to have no favourites, but why only bestow this on a few?”

“Because if everyone had it all the interesting ones would be drowned out in the sea of dull ones.” He arches an eyebrow at her. “If you recall, the previous witch empress also had that mark on the back of her hand; and I did not care for her at all.”

She struggles not to flinch at that, the memory of Delilah is a freshly healed wound that threatens to reopen at any time. “I suppose I should count myself lucky then, so long as I hold your interest the chances of you bestowing your mark upon my enemies are less.” 

_But not zero_

The thought echoes around the empty space between them, as though one of the leviathans has whispered it into the wind instead of letting out another mournful lament.

And rather than relax, or show her that smug smirk of his, the Outsider remains…distant, despite the lack of it between the two of them; silence overthrowing the two of them to become sovereign of that moment.  
  
Emily rends the crown from its head with a sigh, struggling not to rub her eyes and instead opting to close them instead. “If it pleases you then, would you mind returning me so I might at least attempt to fool the Lord Protector into believing I have been asleep all night.”

“He already knows where you have been.”  
  
Her eyes open to regard the Outsider, struggling not to show her surprise at the admission. “How?”

“He came to your rooms to check on you, and when he found you missing, he came here to demand I tell him where you were.” His back is turned towards her as he speaks so she cannot see his facial expression, though judging by his tone, she gathers that neither he nor Corvo were thrilled to see each other.

“And you told him?”

“He was…” The Outsider trails off for a moment. “Annoyingly persistent.”

Emily laughs. “He often is.”

She shakes her head, soft smile curling the corners of her lips, only for it to fall away in surprise as she looks up to find the Outsider regarding her with something…unknowable.

“Is there something…else?” She asks, because it feels odd to ask a God if he is alright.  
  
The Outsider doesn’t reply for a moment and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was struggling for words.

“No.”

Before she has the time to be question him further, the void pulls together and disappears to show her rooms in the tower—  
  
And Corvo sitting behind her desk with an expression that has surely killed lesser men.  
  
Luckily she is not a man.  
  
But this will not make the following conversation any easier.

* * *

 

“—and that’s the name for the repair company right there.”

She points to it on the invoice she found in the file, and Corvo leans closer slightly to examine it.

“Mangata repairs. And what makes you think they’re the ones responsible?”

“According to the invoices and the profit margin reports, the first invoice to the company occurred a week before the first abduction happened.” Emily taps her fingers against the desk absentmindedly. “And the company has since declared the warehouse too dangerous for anyone else to enter.”

“Which means it could potentially be where whoever is abducting these children is keeping them.” Corvo nods in agreement. “We should chase down the other names on both the lists to make sure, but so far this seems like the best lead.”

“Agreed.” Emily stifles a yawn. “We should—”  
  
“ _You_ need to get some rest.” Corvo gathers up the papers on the desk into the folder and tucks it under his arm, silencing Emily’s protests with a look. “Court starts late today; Lori wanted to run the Royal Guard through some drills this morning after what happened yesterday.”

Emily feels indignation begin to burn in her chest. “You can’t cut me out of this, Corvo, I’m not a child any longer; I’m—”  
  
“I know, Emily.”

Corvo’s tired tone cuts her off short, and he offers her a wan smile that accentuates the mess of lines that cover his face. “You fought back against an entire conspiracy without me; and saved me from spending the rest of eternity as a paperweight. I know that you’re more than capable of handling this without my help.”

“However,” he rests a hand on her shoulder, “you’re an Empress again now; you have a number of duties that require your attention. And I’m here to help with whatever ones I can. There are—” He hesitates for a moment before continuing, “a lot of problems that I can’t help you with and it would mean the world to me if you would trust me enough to allow me to help with those I can.”

Emily hesitates, and seeing her waver he continues. “I promise to keep you involved and once I’ve found the bastards, we’ll take them down together.”  
  
She holds her ground for a moment before softening, her shoulders slumping down as the fatigue rushes up and takes hold of her. “Okay.”

Corvo pulls her into a hug and she hugs him back just as tightly as that day in the Golden Cat. Slowly, they let the other go, and she wanders over to her bed; collapsing into it as she hears the door click shut behind him. And that is last sound she registers for a while.

* * *

“Did you have a good night, Empress?”

Emily fights back the impulse to pull the covers over her head and pretend she’s as dead as she feels. “Of a sort.” 

Coralline draws open the windows and sends a beam of sunlight directly into her face, and she scrunches up her nose instinctively at its brightness. She forces herself to sit up and hears Coralline tsk as she does so.

“Doing paperwork until the early hours again, your majesty?” Coralline shakes her head, beginning to select Emily’s outfit for the day. “Even an Empress must sleep.”

“Empresses rest when their empires do.” Emily returns light heartedly, pushing herself up to examine the clothes that Coralline has selected, raising her eyebrows slightly at the choice. “Has there been some change to the schedule?”

Coralline places a pair of knee-high white boots to go with the outfit. “The new high overseer has requested the pleasure of your presence for lunch, and since you did not have any existing appointments during that time, it seemed inappropriate to refuse him.”

“Indeed,” Emily cocks her head at her maid, “you don’t seem to like him very much, Coralline.”  
  
Coralline looks guilty, but the tenseness in her shoulders lessens when she sees the spark of laughter in Emily’s eyes. “Begging your pardon, your majesty, but there’s something to be said for politeness. My mother always taught me intruding onto someone else’s home without leave was the height of rudeness. Let alone demanding to be let in as though it was their right.”

“Some would say that the High Overseer is in a special position as the leader of the faith.” Emily remarks, but doesn’t hesitate to add, “however, I must confess that my mother taught me the same thing.”    

Coralline glances at her in surprise, and for a moment a smile spreads across her face, but it quickly falls away and she ducks towards the door. “I’ll just…go get your bath running, your majesty.”  
  
Emily watches her go and lets her body slump with a sigh as the doors pull shut behind her. Taking a moment to just lie there with her eyes closed and take a moment out of times before beginning to unwrap her clothes and aches from the night before.  
  
After all, she had a lunch to go to.

* * *

“Your Majesty.”

Aeron bows so low that it’s a surprise that his overseer mask doesn’t scrape the ground, and judging by the look Damien is staring into the man’s bowed back it’ll be a miracle if her head of house doesn’t send the head of the faith tumbling over the verandah balcony into the water below.

“High Overseer.” She gestures towards the chair opposite to her. “Please, have a seat.”

He straightens up and while he deposits himself in that chair she turns to where Damien is quickly schooling his face into a neutral expression. “If you could tell the servers to bring the main course in around twenty minutes, that would be most appreciated, Damien.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Damien bows as well, his eyes flickering to the high overseer for a moment before straightening up and meeting her gaze again. “Is there anything else I can bring for you in the meantime?”

She shakes her head, struggling not to let a nervous laugh bubble out, she’s hardly touched the platter they’ve set up, terrified that she’ll manage to get some stain on the white monstrosity wrapped around her. Because surely a ruffled white silk blouse paired with white silk pants, white leather knee high booths and a white dahlia pinned in her hair will be just the thing to convince _Aeron_ that there are no vestiges of the inky black void here.

“No, thank you, Damien; that will be all.”

Damien nods and retreats from the verandah gracefully, pulling the glass doors shut behind him quietly, and she turns her attention back to her guest; who has waited until the two of them are alone to take off his mask.

“I must admit, when I said we should discuss collective efforts to improve the lives of those in the Empire, I hadn’t anticipated we would be discussing those efforts so soon.”

Aeron laughs amiably. “Ah, I apologize, Empress. I confess that I may be a little overeager; it’s something my brothers are quite right to remind me of.”

“Your drive gives you credit, High Overseer.” Emily takes a sip of her tea, enjoying its sweet warmth over her tongue before speaking again. “And indeed, given the current circumstances, perhaps it is fortuitous that you have chosen not to delay your visit.”

Aeron’s face sobers somewhat. “You speak of the troubling matter of the disappearing children, of course? I must admit I have been greatly troubled by the news since I heard it; it was part of the impetus for announcing myself so suddenly yesterday.”

“Indeed, I fear that whoever has taken them has only the darkest intentions in mind,” she has to pause for a moment to blink back the specter of the Pendleton’s rising up as warped images of terror in her mind’s eye and as bile in the back of her throat, “and I was hoping you might have some ideas about how to prevent any further disappearances.”

The High Overseer takes a sip of his own tea, frowning. “I also fear the intentions and inclinations of these kidnappers, and though many in my order are right to suspect agents of the outsider are involved, we must be certain there are not others who these agents have duped into helping them achieve their evil goals.”

“I… must confess I am surprised that you would be so willing to consider other avenues other than dark magic being involved in this matter.” Emily quickly pushes past her momentary shock by reaching for one of the petite goat cheese and pear sandwiches.  

Aeron smiles at her ruefully. “Your surprise is, unfortunately, unsurprising, your majesty. But I feel very strongly that if we had been concerned with not only those that overtly presented any sort of allegiance to the fell void and its master, we might have been able to help route out those who these nefarious beings hid behind and thus the events of last year might have been prevented.” He plates himself up a few of the sandwiches. “It is my intention to expand our sight to all those around us, not simply the ones that cannot afford to pay some of my less morally inclined brethren to turn a blind eye, in order to better secure the soul of the Empire and all who live within it.”

“A moral goal.”

“Hopefully the order I am attempting to build will be worthy of it.” Aeron takes a bite of his sandwich. “But as to the more prescient question of the missing children, I would like to be allowed to permit my men to join the watch on their patrols from now on. We overseers are trained for years in the art of detecting the dark arts, and I believe my brothers may be able to detect clues that those who haven’t may inadvertently miss.”

Emily nods, carefully considering. “It is an interesting proposition, I will have to confer with Captain Leola, of course, and your men would have to give way to the watch whenever a difference of opinion arose of course.”

“Of course.” Aeron smiles at her, blindingly hopeful and bright in its optimism and she finds herself caught off guard—and guilty of feeling instantly suspicious.

Aeron reaches across the table and takes one of her hands in his. “Thank you for allowing me this opportunity, your majesty.” He presses his lips to the signet ring on her hand and it’s as though ice water is running down her back, and she barely represses a shiver. “I promise that I will not allow your faith in me be misplaced.”

“I will be sure to hold you to that.” Emily manages, resisting the urge to tear his hand back and hold it to her chest to try and restart her frozen heart. “Now that is settled, perhaps we might move on to other matters?”

Aeron releases her hand and she carefully moves it back to her side of the table with grace and serenity that she does not feel. Thankfully for the rest of the meal, they remain on fairly stable ground, and she is able to focus her internal efforts on steadying her heartbeat by problem solving other mundane matters.

* * *

“How did you find the company of the holy?”

“To quote a favourite term of yours: interesting.”

She looks up from where she is constructing her reply to the trade minister’s reply to her reply about what policies she intended to introduce with regards to Morley; the tired smirk curling the corners of her lips faltering slightly as she sees him stare off into the endless emptiness rather than at her.

With a sigh, she steps out from behind her desk and walks towards him. “What did you think of it? Or was there something more interesting occupying your attention?”  
  
“I find nothing interesting in a man committed to hating all that his small mind cannot comprehend.” If he wasn’t a God, she’d accuse him of being in a snit.  
  
She struggles not to roll her eyes. “Indeed. Though he does appear to be slightly more progressive than his predecessors; granted that isn’t a very high bar to vault.”

“Odd, to praise an enemy that would burn us both to ash without a second glance were it in his power.”

The back of her left-hand itches, recalling the High Overseer’s grip on it, but she simply leans against a nearby pillar and gazes out into the emptiness with him. “He would love to burn you to ash, certainly; as for me, he seems rather too occupied with the task of keeping my soul safe from your influence to consider whether it is already under it.”

“Naivety and claims of security for the greater good have often masked a deep hunger for power and control.”

She sees, suddenly, Admiral Havelock’s face and feels that familiar chill crawl down her spine. “As I am more than aware.”

“Are you?” The Outsider reappears in front of her, so close that she takes a step back without thinking, and he follows. “I have seen entire nations felled by a smile that could have melted ice, watched as Empresses and common folk alike drowned in the flood waters that followed, and here you are allowing that same weakness to fester within your own heart.”

She keeps her head high, and her voice calm as she regards the uncommon tightness in his body and the fierceness in his eyes. “You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I trust the High Overseer—in any way.”

“I told you before, the void is always there, watching you from within.” He pauses, the stillness carefully controlled. “I know the guilt you felt for being suspicious of him.”

She struggles to hold down a sudden rush of indignation. “It’s not a crime to regret the need for skepticism and suspicion.”

She walks past him towards the edge, wondering briefly if it’s even worth it to make an attempt to maintain her semblance of calm, if he can peer within her so easily.  “Would you not prefer a world where we could be open with one another without fearing ill intentions hiding out of sight?”

“Preference holds no sway over reality.” He reappears beside her. “This world revolves around a great empty darkness at its heart, a force that devours lights in the sky like your people devour whale oil. All you have, are flitting shadows filled with ill intent.”

He looks at her curiously as silence falls between them. “You disagree.”

“It would be the height of hubris to argue with a God.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

She feels the corners of her lips turn up despite herself. “Rather than an argument, I have a question for you.”

“An indistinguishable divide.” He smirks at her. “But ask away.”

She turns to meet his gaze. “Had I cut my way through Karnaca with my blade instead of my wit, would the world have been the same it is now?”

He wastes no time in responding. “Had you severed Delilah’s head from her shoulders instead of ensorcelling her within the warmth of her dreams would _you_ be different?”

“Rather subversive and discourteous to answer with a question.”

“I told you to ask, I made no promise to answer.”  

She shakes her head. “I suppose your answer doesn’t really matter; I alone have to answer for the consequences of my decisions. I have to believe that by keeping my blade sheathed I kept more lights in the world, even if those lights prove fleeting in the face of inescapable darkness.”

“I wonder, the quality of those lights you left is questionable.” His lips spread slowly into something closer to a smile than a smirk. “Though I will say that Karnaca is different than it would have been had you drowned it in blood as opposed to _mercy_.”

She thinks of Jindosh, screaming out for anything but the loss of all that he was, and there is a dull ache in her chest. “Of a kind.”

“Sympathy for the devil.” He has drawn closer to her when she turns her head, and that unreadable expression from before is back. “He laughed when the Tyvian girl went mad, wrote the word _captivating_ over a dozen times as he penned a letter describing witnessing her descent to a peer, but you feel cruel for stealing his mind instead of his breath.”

“I…” She cuts herself off with a wry smile, what use is there in lying to a mirror? “I do. My mother taught me to return cruelty with kindness, but I stole lives with a viciousness greater than any blade.”

“Your mother was trying to teach you to be a good person.” His tone is clear and even, no attempt made to soften their blow, though he takes a step closer to her. “She made the mistake of thinking she’d have time later to teach you how to be a great Empress.”

Emily closes her eyes, trying to remember the softness of her mother’s voice saying goodbye instead of the screams as Daud’s knife drew out her soul with a sick squelching sound. “Maybe, but I don’t blame her for it.”

“You are particularly empty of blame for others today.” She can hear the slight raise of his eyebrows amid the dryness of his next words. “It will be very interesting on the day you are finally empty of blame for yourself.”

A soft chuckle escapes her as she opens her eyes and turns to him with a soft smile, taking a slow step towards him. “Unfortunate that unlimited time can’t allow you to see a day that will never come.”

Sound bubbles forth from his lips, and it takes the both of them a moment to realize that it was a laugh.

“A fair point.” He concedes, and she feels a little bit like her head is spinning with all these new aspects of him revealing themselves. “I will have to content myself with watching you continue to be…”

He trails off, his eyes caught on something just to the left of her face, and she finds herself holding her breath as he raises his hand and reaches towards her; tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “…such an interesting mortal, my dear.”  

He pulls back his hand, only to reach forward and enclose hers with it instead, and her heart misses a beat. His grip is soft, and though she half expects a chill to run up her arm it doesn’t come.

“Do me the courtesy of remaining so for a little while longer.”


End file.
